


The Prince And The Pee

by eighth_chiharu



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Incest, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: Dirk is King. Dave is Captain of the Guard. Sometimes, Dave likes to test Dirk's loyalty...





	The Prince And The Pee

**Author's Note:**

> For the Stridercest Secret Santa

The thing that matters is the throne. 

Dirk sits on that most sacred of chairs, his elbow on one carved wooden arm, his wrist folded so that the back of his hand just supports his cheek. Coupled with the lush robes of his elevated status, the thick pile of cushioning beneath his royal self, and the indolent posture, he comes off as coolly aloof. Distant, with a calm, professional detachment. He might not even care about what's happening in the room, other than to dispense a king's wise justice. 

It's all a cover. He's nervous as fuck. 

His stomach churns, anxious and acidic. To be fair, he did this to himself, but that knowledge does nothing to alleviate the nervousness, or the full, heavy pressure sitting low in his abdomen. He drank too much before today’s Audience. He knew better, oh, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not when he’d been told to do it.

He lifts his eyes from the supplicant before him to the rest of the Grand Hall, gaze sliding too quickly over the assembled peerage and to the right as if he's intending to look out the tall, spired windows that line one wall, but the expensive glazed glass and their beautiful aspect aren't his goal at all. The young man who stands at attention perpendicular to the dais is the one Dirk seeks. The sentry is one of Dirk's family line, a lesser branch, but despite that, Dave is already Captain of the Guard. He holds his post effortlessly, the sword belted to his hip not hindering him in the least, his pike perfectly upright, the decorative purple ribbons limp in the still, cool air of the Throne Room. Without any other outward sign of movement, his eyes snap to Dirk's, hot crimson meeting gold. His gaze grabs Dirk's, sears into Dirk's chest, and the space between them suddenly crackles with expectation. 

Dirk can't look away. He can't breathe. 

"-- and truly, Your Majesty, there's no reason at all why I, the first son, cannot inherit if ... If Your Majesty thinks... Er..." The minor lord groveling before the ancient throne is the very last petitioner of the day, and he stammers to a halt mid-sentence. The entire hall, from the ladies plying their fans to the men sweating in their decorative tunics, echoes his silence, the quiet rippling outward until there's not one voice remaining, not one whisper. They’re here not for the words, but for a show, and if there’s no words, there’s definitely a show.

Dave blinks once at Dirk, slow. 

_I want to see you wet and dripping._

The memory is new, only a few hours old, and it retains its sharpness. It calls to mind the sound of liquid pouring into a cup, of Dave leaning close, his breath brushing Dirk’s cheek. The chill of the glass beneath Dirk’s fingers, the sweet tang of the wine.

Dave’s tongue slides out to lick one corner of his mouth, a tiny, unobtrusive gesture. The pink is a flash of something soft against the more pale color of Dave's lips, and the sheer secret audacity of it sends Dirk’s privates halfway to hard on the spot. Then Dave looks away, and the momentary distraction from the uncomfortable fullness vanishes. 

"Your Majesty?" the Senior Clerk prods politely.

Dirk shifts, keeping the motion small. He can't squirm, no matter how much he'd like to, even if that tiny change in position felt so good. “Continue.” It’s so succinct it’s almost impatient. 

The clerk pauses, a miniscule recrimination for the rudeness, then nods and bows. He gestures to the lord, and the man resumes his speech, laying out his case with teeth-grinding thoroughness. He’s last, but he won’t fucking shut up.

It’s Dave’s fault, Dirk thinks. All Dave’s fault. For being so beguiling. So stupidly, coyly convincing. It's not that Dave is slick or tricky, not at all. The man is known throughout the castle for his verbose babbling. But somehow, _somehow_ , when Dave manages to get to the point, Dirk’s infamous willpower wavers.

_I want to see you like that. I want to see you wet and dripping in front of everyone._

Dirk hadn’t given in right away. He’s not completely helpless; he has defenses. Dave had wanted him to do it halfway drunk, and Dirk had refused. 

_Enough. Three cups of wine would induce an attitude much akin to carelessness_ , Dirk had argued, standing before the side table in his rooms with only Dave in attendance. They were alone, which was rare and imprudent, but Dirk had wanted to see Dave privately, if only for a short time. He waved away the full cup Dave held, ignoring the tantalizing aroma of the wine. _I can’t afford to be careless. People bring important issues before me. A lack of vigilance and understanding would not be viewed as forgivable._

Dave had nodded, and picked up the carafe of water instead, and filled an etched crystal goblet. _I know. I just want you to enjoy it. In case you don’t trust me._

Dirk raised golden eyebrows. _I trust you._

Dave had set the glass on Dirk’s desk, fingers close to Dirk’s hand. His index finger stretched out, stroking Dirk’s thumb as if on accident. _I think mostly you do. But I know you, Dirk. You think I don't, but I do. You're important to me. I would never ask you to do anything you wouldn’t like._

 _Like?_ Dirk had repeated, laughing in a disbelieving way. _I would never like it. It’s just for you._

Dave had only smiled, and kissed Dirk, and waited until Dirk had took the glass to tell Dirk he loved him.

That had been two hours ago, and now they’re here, in front of the entire assembly, and the pressure on Dirk’s bladder is becoming unbearable. The lord is going on and on -- Rogers, wasn’t that his name? Rogers of Somewhere No-One Cared About? -- finishing his long tale of greed and woe, and even the assembled courtiers are becoming restless. They’re shuffling in place, murmuring, coughing. Things have returned to dull and boring, and everyone is ready to end the afternoon’s hearings -- everyone except Dave.

He’s watching Dirk openly now. He’ll probably say he thought there was a minor security risk if anyone asks about his blatant disrespect. He always has an answer. He always seems to know what to say, even if it takes him ten minutes to get to the point. He always gets his way, why did Dirk agree to this?? 

He risks one more movement, dropping his hands to his lap as if exasperated, stealing a push against his own crotch. It helps, and he tries to hold his hand there, knowing Dave can see him do it, but unable to stop. If he doesn’t do something, he won’t last.

“So you see, my claim above all others is supreme. I ask that Your Majesty recognize that, and banish all other claimants from the land.”

Dirk glances at Dave in desperation, looking for permission to cry off, to jump up and stalk out of the room as if annoyed so he can seek the respite of the garderobe. 

Dave shakes his head once. The ribbons on his pike flutter, royal and flimsy and soft. _No._

“My decision,” Dirk says suddenly, interrupting the lord, “is that you share with your relatives.”

“But Sire, my relatives are the ones who brought this false suit in the first place!”

How dare the man interrupt. Dirk can't allow that. He raises his voice, projecting from the diaphragm as taught, pushing his voice out. “You will each be given shares according to your station, and you will _not_ \-- nh!” The pain is surprising, sudden, and Dirk’s drawers are suddenly damp with the spill of fresh, hot urine. 

The clerk leans forward, and Dave copies him unthinkingly, his eyes bright. “Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Dirk chokes out, clamping down hard on his pelvic muscles. Oh, God, he’s half hard when he clenches, and the contraction sends a wave of bliss through him even as pain throbs in his stomach. His brows come together, furrowing briefly. He tries once more, pleads with Dave not to have him do this thing that makes him writhe with more than the base need to urinate. This shameful thing that makes him want to please Dave, and maybe, just maybe, want to have people look at him, see his embarrassment and know it's his selfishness that's brought him so low.

Another head shake, more firmly. _No._ “Share??” the lord protests. “But Your Majesty, my claim clearly supersedes any others, and according to the law, I should have the first --”

“Are you questioning me?” Dirk snaps. He can’t get up yet, he has to hold it down, just another minute. It’s not time yet. That was the deal, that he’d get rid of the last petitioner out before he had to do it, but he’s not going to make it. Another throb, and more urine escapes. He clenches his muscles tighter, but there’s too much. It’s so hard to hold, and it’s been so long. 

“... no, Your Majesty,” the lord says reluctantly. He stands and bows. “Thank you for your ruling. I will do my best to accommodate the procedure. Please present to me your instructions.”

“My instructions?” He can’t squeeze his legs together any harder. He’s going to lose it. “My instructions.” He can’t. He can’t hold it, he can’t. Everyone’s watching, the disagreement drawing their attention, and all eyes are back on him. He has to go so bad, he’s dying. He’s so hot.

There’s a ringing knocking sound, three sharp bangs on the floor, and all eyes fly to Dave as he marches to the front of the dais and announces, “The Audience is complete! All bow! Long live the King!” Rogers opens his mouth, then shuts it. Dirk watches from behind Dave as the lord’s lips thin into a line, but he bows and echoes, with everyone else, “Long live the King!”

“All depart!” Dave booms.

It’s so quick. So to the point. So unlike Dave. Dirk can barely comprehend what’s happening. Is Dave... saving him?

The Senior Clerk hurries to Dave, says something prissily and quietly to him, but Dave doesn’t move. After a moment, the Clerk gives way and leaves, following the crowd as they funnel out between the huge double doors at the end of the Throne Room. People throw curious glances at them, Dirk and Dave, but Dirk can’t do anything in response.

Dirk’s thoughts are breaking apart. He isn’t paying attention at all, though no one seems to notice. Sweat breaks out along his temples. He moves without subtlety, crossing his legs as tight as he can, both hands on the arms of that venerable throne with its piles of cushions, clutching at the wood until his knuckles are white and his hands are slippery and cold. He’s breathing hard when the doors finally boom shut behind the last courtier, and Dave turns to face him.

“I did it,” Dirk gasps, breath shuddering. “I did it. Can I go? Please?”

Dave begins to walk toward Dirk, pike in his too-tight grasp. His gaze is molten fire, his cheeks as flushed as Dirk’s. One hand drops to his groin, squeezes a generous amount of fabric. “No, Your Majesty. You did as I asked, and now I’m going to give you what you want.”

Dirk swallows, throat dry, the weight in his guts overwhelming. He can’t. It’s wrong. It’s too important. It’s -- “Then I can go. Let me leave, Dave!”

Dave reaches the throne, bends over, and sets his pike on the dais. Both hands go to Dirk’s thighs, and Dave peeks up hungrily through the fall of his bangs. Slowly, he pushes Dirk’s knees open, ignoring the despairing cry that flies from Dirk’s throat. 

“Stop --!”

“Hell no.” Dave leans in closer, and Dirk blushes furiously, blood pulsing in his cheeks. “This is your reward. Let go, for me, baby.”

“My…? No, no, I don’t want it, I -- Oh, _fuck_.” The last bit of control unravels, and Dirk, the king of his people, floods his undershorts, soaking the cushions on the seat of his ancestors. The sharp, acrid tang of urine fills the hall, and God, the relief is so amazing that Dirk sags forward until his head rests on Dave’s shoulder, moaning softly. He does as told and lets the rest of it go until the fabric beneath him is soggy and soft and hot. 

“Good boy,” Dave murmurs, kissing Dirk’s ear, kissing his temple. “You’re so good. So wonderful.”

“I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t.” Dirk clings to Dave’s tunic, finding the fabric beneath the ceremonial armor. “I ruined everything.”

Dave nuzzles Dirk, his tone indulgent, calming. “No, my liege, never. You did so well. You did as I asked. Did you think I wouldn’t protect you?” 

Dirk looked up, distressed and puzzled, the fabric of his clothes already growing clammy, clinging to him.

“Didn’t you notice all the padding in the cushions?” Dave asked, teasing gently. At Dirk’s confused shrug, he added, “The extra thickness. They’re towels, my lord. I would never let you hurt anyone or anything you hold dear.”

The tears welled up, and Dave cupped Dirk’s face, making shushing noises and kissing his cheeks, catching the few tears that managed to escape. “Shhh, Dirk, don’t cry. You’re perfect. You did so well. You’re beautiful, and I love you. So let’s go now. I have a hot bath ordered, and it’s got your name all over it.”

“It ought to,” Dirk sniffled, frowning back any more wet emotion. “I own this whole castle.”

Dave grinned. “Yes, my liege. Now let’s head up to your rooms. I want to wash you thoroughly, in all the places. Just you and me.”


End file.
